


Hands at Work

by transtwinyards



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Time Skips, relationship tag depends on how you read the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether it was a mannerism or a force of habit, Adam didn't know, but his hands had to find something to do if he didn't want his mind occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands at Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aplatonicjacuzzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplatonicjacuzzi/gifts).



> [Nick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aplatonicjacuzzi) gave me a prompt* from [this](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com/post/132655238970) post. and he wanted 4, pynch. I delivered.
> 
> * ~~READ: I forced him to give me one~~

Gansey was on his back, book settled on his chest, nose settled near the pages, and Adam was pretty sure that he was falling asleep.

One of the many group projects they had as of this week included laptop access, and Adam was over for the night so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it over the weekend. Gansey’s head was on his lap.

Ronan was beside them, the light from his laptop casting weird shadows across his face. There was a tight knit between his brows as he worked, and he was unconsciously chewing at the skin of his lips.

Adam pretended that he wasn’t noticing these things. Adam wanted something to do to keep himself from staring. Adam carefully raised his hand and ran his fingers across Gansey’s scalp, reveled at the feeling of the soft tufts of brown hair across his palm. Gansey took a deep breath.

A few minutes into brushing Gansey’s hair, the book on his chest promptly fell on his face.

Adam looked at Ronan, only to find Ronan looking at him. There was an indecipherable look on his face, a firm look of something raw, and Adam hated that he couldn’t read it.

“What?” he asked, continuing with what he was doing.

Ronan stared a little more at Adam, at Adam’s fingers, then at Gansey, before looking back down to his work and saying, “His contacts are still in. Wake him up before he hurts himself.”

* * *

 

“He used to have this really curly hair,” Noah continued, probably making a gesture with his hands. “It was a real shame when he shaved it off.”

Adam hummed in mild agreement, his focus pointed at his homework.

Noah hadn’t been hanging out on Adam’s mattress that long, and all he’s done since he arrived was start random, one-sided conversations in hopes of Adam gaining interest between the numbers on his homework. So far, Noah’s caught his attention between odd numbers, with the subject of Cabeswater’s energetic whims, Blue’s odd fashion sense, and things Aglionby boys do.

Not yet discouraged with the lack of response from Adam, Noah once again continued on his thoughts on Ronan’s hair. “Sometimes he thinks he’s being subtle with that head scratching thing he does,” Noah said, his voice veering to the side of humor. Adam managed a glance at the ghost on his mattress. Noah grinned, glad at having caught Adam’s attention, and made an action of sliding his hand across his head, something Ronan did often when he was frustrated.

“I thought he did it when he was frustrated too!” Noah laughed, and Adam managed a grin, glancing back at his homework. Last number was still unanswered, but maybe a few seconds wouldn’t hurt.

“Apparently he does that because he used to do that thing with his hair,” Noah muttered almost conspiratorially.

“So, like,” Adam made a gesture, palm down, combing his fingers through his dry, sandy hair. Noah made a sound of approval, pointing at what Adam was doing.

“That, that! He used to do _exactly_ that, and he still does it because, I don’t know, force of habit?”

Adam’s fingers stayed at his scalp, calluses digging in lightly. He laid his arm down by his knee, closing his eyes for a bit. His eyelids burned with exhaustion. He imagined what Ronan would have looked like if he had his dark curls, if he looked more like Niall before.

Adam wondered if he would’ve thought Ronan different just because of his appearance, a contrast of soft curls to sharp edges.

When he opened his eyes again, Noah was gone, and the last number to his homework was still not done. His mind couldn’t manage working the problem with its lack of sleep.

With a sigh, he reached across the homemade desk-box and turned off the desk lamp.

* * *

 

Ronan ran a hand over his shaved head, earning Adam’s attention.

It was a Sunday, and Ronan had come upstairs from the mass to tell Adam that they were going to the Barns.

Adam let himself think about how Ronan didn’t have to ask anymore, just told him they were going with the jangle of his car keys. His neat button-up dress shirt for Mass did things to Adam’s gut, and he didn’t let himself think about that.

Again, Ronan ran a hand over his shaved head, earning Adam’s attention.

Adam didn’t say ‘spit it out’ or ‘stop that’, because lying about things around Ronan did things to Adam’s conscience, and he didn’t want to think about that yet. So, instead he said, “You didn’t even change out of your church clothes. What’s the occasion?”

Ronan glanced at Adam like he was looking for approval, and Adam didn’t know what to say to that. Ronan never needed approval on anything non-Gansey related, so they let the silence pass between them. Adam tried listening to the low volume of tinny music coming from the speakers below. He reached out to crank it up, if only to try to listen to the lyrics, if there were any.

Ronan swatted at his hand lightly, and Adam dropped his hand; felt the warmth linger even as he chose to stare out the windows.

“I wasn’t listening during the Mass,” Ronan said. Adam kept his gaze on the window, watching the scenery around them. He wondered why a god would willingly listen to another god’s followers, why a god would seek salvation.

“I was thinking, and I think we’re due for a repair to the line before I try anything new.”

Adam glanced at Ronan, “That’s not how it works.”

Ronan gave him a look, eventually having no choice but to keep his eyes on the road. “You know where the line gets frayed, and I’ve been dreaming things non-stop. I can’t just keep taking from Cabeswater.”

Adam had turned his head to Ronan now, seeing the full silhouette of his profile as the unrelenting sun came in through the tinted window. If Ronan kept taking, he’d be no better than Kavinsky.

He thought back to the lonesome boy back at the barns, dreaming in his dead father’s office chair with a blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He thought back to the lonesome boy, desperate enough to look for an animal that he thought would look like something he’d dreamt; desperate enough to search for signs, for a whisper of hope.

Adam thought back to that lonesome boy, stared at this lonesome boy now, as doubt began seeping into his tightening grip on the steering wheel, felt the engine groan as the car sped up, and finally said, “There’s a frayed link near the exit we take to Singer’s Fall. I think it just needs some rocks moved around.”

Ronan’s grip slackened quintessentially, car slowing to a stop as they hit the first stop light of many. His doubt seeped out as the engine cooled, and Adam looked again, at this lonesome boy, and wondered if he was ever lonesome when he brought Adam.

* * *

 

It was a Friday night, and it was right about time for dinner, and Adam had work in two hours, and they were still at the Barns. Ronan’s head was on Adam’s lap, his hands steady on his chest as he breathed in, and out, and in, and out.

Ronan, from this vantage point, was a breathing mountain, so unmovable and breathtaking. Adam reached out, fingers touching the small hairs that were growing out. Without much thought, he began combing his fingers through Ronan’s scalp, kept his mind away from things he would have thought about as he waited.

He leaned his head back, on the wall, closed his eyes as he felt the room breathe in and out, and in, and out. He focused on the feeling of his fingers brushing across Ronan’s shaved head, and relented on a single thought that he directed at Cabeswater:

 _Give him what he needs_.

And then he waited for results, for a whisper of hope.

Ronan’s body stiffened, but Adam kept his eyes closed, and his hand moving. For a moment, he thought Ronan had been paralyzed once more, as was the result of bringing back something he didn’t plan on bringing back, the result of bringing back something he didn’t ask Cabeswater for.

But then the moment passed, and Adam opened his eyes. Ronan still had his eyes closed, but he was awake.

“What did you bring?” Adam croaked, because it’s been a few hours since they went through a McDonald’s drive through for soda and snacks.

Ronan raised his hand, but didn’t open his eyes. It was a bottle, a bottle that Adam recognized.

“Lotion?” Adam grabbed at the dream item with his free hand. Ronan didn’t try to keep him from touching it. Instead, he leaned his head back towards Adam’s fingers.

“You gonna try this tonight?” Adam asked, and surprisingly didn’t flinch at the assault of his Henrietta accent.

Ronan’s eyes cracked open, eyes dark in the dim lighting from his father’s office. Adam looked at him, and trained his face to a look of askance.

“Nope,” Ronan said, glancing away. Adam looked at his wristwatch, momentarily stopping at his ministrations on Ronan’s shaved head.

“Well, I’ll have to get home soon anyway. Think I could drive this time?”

Ronan, in one miraculous stretch, yawned. Odd considering Ronan’s insomnia. “Sure,” he breathed out. "Keys are back in the house."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! My tumblr can be found[ here.](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com)


End file.
